


Silver Tongue, Golden Gun

by Sadistrix



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadistrix/pseuds/Sadistrix
Summary: Widowmaker scowls down at her, unimpressed. “A clever tongue can’t stop a bullet.”
Relationships: Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23
Collections: Writing Rainbow Silver





	Silver Tongue, Golden Gun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlsarewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/gifts).



They might be finished with the post-infiltration briefing, her _sincere_ disappointment that Katya Volskaya will live to commission more omnic-designed mechs in the service of Russia’s defences very firmly on file, but Sombra isn’t stupid enough to think she’s convinced everyone that matters. Widowmaker has yet to let her out of her sight for even a moment, making her presence known every which way Sombra turns.

Which would be far more intriguing if it weren’t so inconvenient.

The first night she finds a bug in her room, Somba puts on a show. The second time she’s a little more annoyed. Grudges always play out too slow for Sombra’s liking, and she’s on a timeline of her own. And sure, she’s gotten used to biding her time over the years, but that doesn’t mean she hates it any less. So if, a week in and already tired of playing patient against a sniper, Sombra manufactures a Talon meeting about nothing of import and happens to hang around long enough that the conference room empties around the two of them, that’s nobody's business but her own.

She gets up from her seat after the last paper-pusher has left, stretching before she heads to the door just to make sure Widowmaker’s eyes are on her. As always.

Just as expected, Widowmaker takes the bait. She’s up and across the room with the kind of speed that puts the rank and file to shame - the butt of her rifle putting a dent in the wall an inch from Sombra’s ribs a moment before she sees it coming - caging her up against the wall and blocking her escape route. It might have been the plan all along, but up close and personal, Sombra’s pulse still pounds with the thrill of being trapped.

“I don’t miss,” Widowmaker hisses, cutting straight to the chase.

“Not much for pleasantries, are you?” Sombra points out, leaning back against the wall and pretending she’s unaffected by the threat implicit in the way Widowmaker’s leaning over her. She doesn’t dare take her eyes off of her though. The sniper isn’t nearly as predictable as some. “Happens to everyone though, right? At least, that’s what Gabe told me the other night…”

She catches the end of Widowmaker’s ponytail as it swings beneath her arm and gives a cheeky tug, intending to use the distraction to give her the slip. Unfortunately for her, Widowmaker responds with a forearm to the neck. “You talk entirely too much.”

“I’m told it’s part of my charm,” Sombra chokes out, winking for good measure. It’s not that she has a death wish, per say, but she can’t help herself from having a little bit of fun. She’s too useful to Talon for Widowmaker to get away with killing her outright anyway. Not that that’s an entirely iron-clad deterrent, but it’s not nothing either.

The pressure on her neck eases slightly, but Widowmaker scowls down at her, unimpressed. “A clever tongue can’t stop a bullet.”

As used to receiving death threats as she is, coming from Widowmaker it’s a bit more exciting than Sombra remembers. The steady thump of her pulse drifts lower, taking up between her thighs with a pleasant sort of urgency. “You’d be surprised what I can do with my tongue,” she counters, as sultry as Sombra can manage with Widowmaker’s arm still pressing into her windpipe.

“I don’t think so.”

“Try me.”

This time she’s not expecting Widowmaker to take the bait, but she narrows her eyes as if considering the proposition for a moment and then tosses her rifle to the side. Her otherwise calculating gaze settles over Sombra with an entirely new intensity, something lurking behind her eyes that definitely isn’t the detached, unaffected sniper that Sombra’s used to. “Let’s see if you can hold your tongue.”

Her fingers pluck Sombra’s coat open with surgical precision and dig into her hip, betraying her true interest for a split second. “Oooh,” Sombra breathes, no heat behind it as Widowmaker’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of her leggings, “no fair.”

“You don’t like to play fair,” Widowmaker reminds her, an icy mimicry of Sombra’s own words. And who would Sombra be if she didn’t rise to _that_ challenge?


End file.
